


Why Save It Till The Morning After?

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Because BOYS On Film Look Better [7]
Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Cute, Developing Relationship, Duets, Falling In Love, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Rio, Showers, Singing, Water, rhythm section
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: He never expected to hear a voice so perfect. Percussion yes, vocals? Who would’ve thought it.
Relationships: John Taylor/Roger Taylor (Duran Duran)
Series: Because BOYS On Film Look Better [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075265
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Why Save It Till The Morning After?

_1982_

_Rio Tour_

Buried halfway into his suitcase, John threw his head up. He stuttered, mouth dropping open as he tried to gain control of the situation. Painting the picture in his mind.

**_You saw me standing by the wall,_ **

He was stunned, truly, he hadn’t expected it to be so magnificent.

**_Corner of Main Street._ **

John couldn’t help himself. Up he rose to his feet, suddenly feeling very clammy in his leathers. Without thinking, or perhaps overthinking, he ran a shaky hand underneath the hem of his tank. Fingering it, he peeled it off and sent it fluttering to the floor.

**_And your lights are flashing on your windowsill._ **

It grew, continued to flow merrily and John found himself almost waltzing around the small hotel room to it. Content on finding his beat and living out the rhythm that was pouring into him.

**_All alone ain’t much fun, so you’re looking for the thrill._ **

He was tapping along, rocking back and forth on his heels. Drumming on his thigh, marking out his notes. No rhyme or reason, the sacred text began to roll off of his own ruby lips: adding to the duet.

**_And you know just what it takes,_ **

His vocals intensified, although John was sure that he couldn’t really be heard. It didn’t bother him, tones ringing throughout the small space. He was gravitating closer to his destination, ear propped up at the door. Almost, the final restraint.

**_And where to go._ **

John ran a deft finger down his leathers, sighing at the brief contact. He needed more, he craved it, already with a shaky hand pulling at his zips. Along with his chains, his leathers cluttered the floor.

**_Don’t say a prayer for me now,_ **

John felt incredibly self conscious now. He didn’t want to turn to the mirror that was glaring daggers at his back. See his lanky frame, skin on bone, thrown back into his face. His shift in confidence was odd, upsetting, if only for a moment.

**_Save it till the morning after._ **

He caught wind of those rhythmical tones again. John himself caught his second wind.

**_No don’t say a prayer for me now,_ **

He ignored his trembling grip on the doorknob as he clasped it, slowly turning it to the left. John let himself get lost in the steam, throwing himself into the thick of it. Thankful for wearing his contacts, he could begin to decipher a figure: a little wishy-washy from behind the thick glass. John couldn’t see much, when could he ever, but enough to know that he wanted this. He indeed was giving into his deepest cravings and desires. No turning back now.

**_Save it till the morning after._ **

His hand braced itself on the glass pane, being pelted by water droplets. John watched, enthralled, as a long bead of it trickled down his wrist and forearm. How a small puddle was forming by his feet.

It was then that he inhaled a shaky breath, content with ruining the ensemble.

“Do-on’t say a prayer fo’ me now,” he recited, slow and steady, “save it till tha mornin’ aft- _uuuuur_.”

John giggled, catching the widened gaze and parted lips. How suddenly ruffled the figure was before him, soaked to the core.

Without another word, trembling fingers landed on John’s boxers and he paused. Raising his gaze, he gulped audibly whilst searching for those heated eyes again. His permission, to rid himself of the final restraint.

A solemn nod. John inched them down.

He shimmied, cursing as he couldn’t remove them fast enough. Yet, there was something in the air. He wanted this to be slow, to thoroughly soak up the body as it moved underneath him; moist lips locking in a firm embrace.

John stepped in, crowding him. He stepped closer, just daring; doing nothing. He held his gaze, feeling his skin crawl with the sudden heat whilst he was pelted with the water. Raining down merrily around him, around them both.

To his surprise, his elation, the voice now grander than before, picked up from where John left off.

“Save it till tha’ mornin’ after.”

Together their pitches found their way, intermingling was a miracle but they made it. Survived the infamous ‘doo-doo’s.’

What did they need to save? John had him in his sights, targets locked as he inched even closer. Craning his neck down, heavy fringe falling into his eyes, he chanced it. Falling deeper and deeper, lips burning as finally he made contact.

The kiss was slow, thorough. Together they danced each other’s rhythm, heartbeats so in time. There were hands running through his slick hair, brushing it from his face as John changed his angle, deepening the embrace. Clinging on.

They parted with a wet sound, a small echo between their lips. John leant in again, forehead burning as he lined himself up, resting against the figure. John’s eyes didn’t leave his, they were wide and coated in love; lust. Anything and everything.

From Roger, tanned skin glistening beautifully under the soak, John could never tear his gaze away.


End file.
